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'I'll play him for what he likes! exclaimed the cool, coatless Captain Macer, striking his ball away for a cannon. 'Hang your play! replied Spareneck; 'you're always thinking of play it's hunting I'm talking of. bringing his heavy, silver-mounted jockey-whip a crack down his leg.
''Ord dash it! exclaimed young Spareneck, the steeple-chase rider, bursting into Scorer's billiard-room in the midst of a full gathering, who were looking on at a grand game of poule, 'Ord dash it! there's a fellow coming who swears by Jove that he'll take the shine out of us all, "cut us all down!"
Caingey, grinning his coarse red face nearly double, and getting his horse well by the head, rams in the spurs, and flourishes his cutting whip high in air, with a 'g u u ur along! do you think I' the 'stole you' being lost under water just as Sponge clears the brook a little lower down. Spareneck then pulls up.
Tattered Hibernians, with rags on their backs and jokes on their lips; young English chevaliers d'industrie, with their hands ready to dive into anybody's pockets but their own; stablemen out of place, servants loitering on their errands, striplings helping them, ladies'-maids with novels or three-corner'd notes, and a good crop of beggars. 'What, Spareneck, do you ride the grey to-day?
I thought you'd done Gooseman out of a mount, observed Ensign Downley, as a line of scarlet-coated youths hung over the balcony of the Imperial Hotel, after breakfast and before mounting for the day. Spareneck. 'No, that's for Tuesday. He wouldn't stand one to-day. What do you ride? Downley. 'Oh, I've a hack, one of Screwman's, Perpetual Motion they call him, because he never gets any rest.
'Oh, d n it, there he is! exclaimed Mr. Spareneck, jumping up from the breakfast-table, and nearly sweeping the contents off by catching the cloth with his spur. 'Where? exclaimed half-a-dozen voices, amid a general rush to the windows.
Waffles's premier toady, and constant trencherman. 'I'll ride him! rejoined Mr. Spareneck, jockeying his arms, and flourishing his whip as if he was at work, adding: 'his old brandy-nosed, frosty-whiskered trumpeter of a groom says he's coming down by the five o'clock train. I vote we go and meet him invite him to a steeple-chase by moonlight.
'Hang him, interrupted Caingey Thornton, 'there are good men in all countries. 'So there are! exclaimed Mr. Spareneck, the steeple-chase rider. 'I've no notion of a fellow lording it, because he happens to come out of Leicestershire, rejoined Mr. Thornton. 'Nor I! exclaimed Mr. Spareneck. 'Why doesn't he stay in Leicestershire? asked Mr.
Spareneck, eyeing him intently, not without an inward qualm that he had set himself a more difficult task than he imagined, to 'cut him down, especially when he looked at the noble animal he bestrode, and the masterly way he sat him. 'What a pair of profligate boots, observed Captain Whitfield, as our friend now passed his lodgings.
That's him, I believe, with the lofty-actioned hind-legs, added he, pointing to a weedy string-halty bay passing below, high in bone and low in flesh. 'Who's o' the gaudy chestnut? asked Caingey Thornton, who now appeared, wiping his fat lips after his second glass of eau de vie. 'That's Mr. Sponge's, replied Spareneck in a low tone, knowing how soon a man catches his own name.
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